Downloaded from Manchesterhive.Com at 09/26/2021 02:14:10AM Via Free Access the Movie-Made Movement 121

6 The movie-made Movement: civil rites of passage Sharon Monteith Memory believes before knowing remembers. (William Faulkner) Forgetting is just another kind of remembering. (Robert Penn Warren) Film history cannibalises images, expropriates themes and tech- niques, and decants them into the contents of our collective memory. Movie memories are influenced by the (inter)textuality of media styles – Fredric Jameson has gone so far as to argue that such styles displace ‘real’ history. The Civil Rights Movement made real history but the Movement struggle was also a media event, played out as a teledrama in homes across the world in the 1950s and 1960s, and it is being replayed as a cinematic event. The interrela- tionship of popular memory and cinematic representations finds a telling case study in the civil rights era in the American South. This chapter assesses what films made after the civil rights era of the 1950s and 1960s express about the failure of the Movement to sus- tain and be sustained in its challenges to inequality and racist injus- tice. It argues that popular cultural currency relies on invoking images present in the sedimented layers of civil rights preoccupa- tions but that in the 1980s and 1990s movies also tap into ‘struc- tures of feeling’. Historical verisimilitude is bent to include what Tom Hayden called in 1962 ‘a reassertion of the personal’ as part of the political, but it is also bent to re-present the Movement as a communal struggle in which ordinary southern white people are much more significant actors in the personal and even the public space of civil rights politics than was actually the case. Historical facts as we retrieve and interpret them are only one facet of the movie-made Movement. Sharon Monteith - 9781526137531 Downloaded from manchesterhive.com at 09/26/2021 02:14:10AM via free access The movie-made Movement 121 In a reception-driven analysis, film genres and sub-genres do not exist until they become necessary. It would be impossible to argue that something called ‘civil rights cinema’ existed before the end of the 1980s, by which time a provisional sub-genre of feature films had begun to develop around race and rights with reference out to the Movement. In the 1960s films that examined civil rights struggles in any guise at all were usually reviewed as ‘small town movies’ or ‘southern melodrama’ or ‘social problem pictures’. Over the last two decades of the twentieth century, there has developed a criti- cally self-conscious body of work on commemoration and retrieval and it is during this period that, as Richard Rorty has observed, ‘the novel, the movie and the TV program . gradually but steadily replaced the sermon and the treatise as the principal vehicles of moral change and progress’.1 Before this, movies with plots incor- porating civil rights struggles could turn up in any popular genre from westerns to courtroom dramas, and even comedies. Slowly a small but distinct body of films is developing in which Movement successes are celebrated and strategies and losses inter- rogated – Freedom Song (2000), Boycott (2001) and The Rosa Parks Story (2002), for example. But these films, like Spike Lee’s Malcolm X (1992) and A Huey P. Newton Story (2001), fall outside of the broad (predominantly white) mainstream cinematic tradition. More usually, black activists (CORE and SNCC) and protagonists (Medgar Evers, Martin Luther King Jr.) have been caught in an epistemological drift, their stories dispersed and scattered through narratives in which white protagonists undergo a rites of passage or racial conversion. Most white directors and screenwriters espouse a liberal reformist vision in working out private salvations. But as Martin Luther King Jr. opined in Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community? (1967), liberalism can be ‘all too sentimen- tal concerning human nature’, leaning towards a ‘false idealism’. Films made in our own historical moment tend to ensure that civil rights cinema becomes a cinema of integration and reconcilia- tion. They function in a postmodern imaginary as socially symbolic texts in which racial tensions that remain unresolved in life find temporary resolution in narrative space. To do this, they focus on relationships between individuals, reducing larger historical events to personal histories, domesticating public memory of the Civil Rights Movement. Sharon Monteith - 9781526137531 Downloaded from manchesterhive.com at 09/26/2021 02:14:10AM via free access 122 The politics of memory Memory and catechism Shared cultural events are always ‘historical’, as George Lipsitz has argued in Time Passages (1990), discussing the ways in which television in the 1950s naturalised the nuclear family as a touchstone of modern American society. Collective memory functions to co- ordinate and to fabricate national identity and unity. Movie memories circulate among producers, directors, and audiences; an archival memory-store of civil rights iconography, or an ‘arcade’ of motifs, to borrow Walter Benjamin’s terminology, finds space in the popular cultural imaginary that is contemporary cinema. Memories tied to place as well as period can provide momentum in and of themselves. Car- olyn Goodman, Andrew’s mother, drove the road from Meridian in 1989, alone in the Mississippi night, still trying to come to terms with what happened to her civil rights worker son, twenty-five years after his brutal murder in 1964. In 1991 the gravestone of James Chaney, the black activist murdered along with Goodman and Schwerner, was defaced: a bullet fired into the photograph of the deceased. As I write, the Mississippi Freedom Summer murder case may be reopened so that those defendants acquitted by a hung (white) jury in 1967 may be re-investigated. The history of the Civil Rights Movement is so recent that dramatic personal re-enactments, historic cases of justice deferred, and public commemorations proliferate. In 2000, President Clinton, Martin Luther King Jr.’s widow, Coretta Scott King, and civil rights leaders retraced the Selma to Montgomery March that turned into ‘Bloody Sunday’ in 1965. They marked the 35th anniversary on Edmund Pettus Bridge, itself a solid signifier of the Movement past in popular memory. Commemora- tions reinforce the significance of the Movement as mythology and as catechism, as well as history. Heritage tourism is the fastest grow- ing feature of the leisure market according to Angela DaSilva, who founded the National Black Tourism Network in 1996: ‘Everyone wants to march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge . And everyone wants to do it singing “We Shall Overcome” at the top of their lungs’.2 In fact, a number of TV shows have picked up on this fasci- nation from Quantum Leap to I’ll Fly Away. Most recently in an episode called ‘Revisionism’, The Education of Max Bickford (CBS February 2002) included an African American professor who mis- represented herself as a Freedom Rider. College principal (Regina Taylor) admonishes her, ‘People died. You can’t take ownership of Sharon Monteith - 9781526137531 Downloaded from manchesterhive.com at 09/26/2021 02:14:10AM via free access The movie-made Movement 123 that. It disrespects their memory’, and in 1999 in an episode of Touched By An Angel (CBS April 1999) called ‘Black Like Monica’, Rosa Parks played herself as ‘mother of the Civil Rights Movement’ and honoured speaker when a small town in Illinois celebrates dis- covering a stop on the Underground Railroad. Popular memory fuses the pedagogical with the affective. It prefers to mythologise Rosa Parks as a tired seamstress rather than a trained activist and sec- retary of the Montgomery chapter of National Association of Col- ored People (NAACP). Those like Irene Morgan and Claudette Colvin, who took a stand on segregated public transportation and who refused to relinquish their seats to whites before Parks, have fallen out of history and are only just beginning to receive critical attention. The intervening years would seem to allow more creative space in which to interpret the past in order to deepen historical con- sciousness and yet movies often eschew hermeneutical struggles with form and changing definitions of heroism, tending to follow realis- tic conventions in ‘authenticating’ rather than re-visioning the Civil Rights Movement. Critical realism is not inevitably the most effec- tive way of representing recent history in ways that continue to touch the popular imagination though, as television has shown. However, many working in history and cinema still betray in their work on film a reductive focus on fidelity – even historians David Herlihy and Natalie Zemon Davis, who have each acted as consul- tants for movies. Herlihy displays a keen awareness of the ‘gaps, ambiguities and prejudices’ in historical resources but he fails to see how films can ‘carry’ the same critical apparatus as historical texts – when they display the same aporia, they are dismissed as erroneous rather than historiography. Disciplinary essentialism of this kind fails to recognise movies as culturally conditioned productions embedded in the fabric of film history, or that the struggle with their accuracy can never be entirely separated from their ‘ritual function’.3 History has less epistemological hold on movies than memory. Alice Walker’s first published essay in the American Scholar in 1967 was an assessment of the Civil Rights Movement subtitled ‘What Good Was It?’, in which she described the Movement as ‘a call to life’ for people like herself who did not exist ‘either in books or in films or in the government of their own lives’.4 Much was invested in a defining social movement in the 1960s but just a gen- eration later the Movement seems to find its continued meaning in images (Martin Luther King at the March on Washington; dogs and Sharon Monteith - 9781526137531 Downloaded from manchesterhive.com at 09/26/2021 02:14:10AM via free access 124 The politics of memory water cannons turned on black children in Birmingham; Autherine Lucy or Elizabeth Eckford braving rabid white racists alone to enrol in school; George Wallace standing in the schoolhouse door).

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